


By the Sword

by marginaliana



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, obviously, the Valdemar fusion that every fandom needs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6574408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy kept on after Valentine, despite it all, but he knew that the world needed something. Something to help them be good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Sword

It was two months after Valentine and thirty five percent of the population of Britain was dead, more or less. When Eggsy stopped to think about it, he was surprised it wasn't more – but it seemed that people's instincts had clung to self-preservation, even under the influence of the SIM cards. Even when trying to murder each other, they'd spared a thought for not getting murdered themselves. They'd dodged, shielded, fought each other successfully enough and long enough for Eggsy to do what he needed to do, and so they'd lived, most of them. It was the children who died, and the elderly, and the sick – and then afterwards, it was the parents, the doctors, the caretakers who couldn't face what they'd done, and they died, too. 

Eggsy kept on, despite it all. He had felt triumphant after Gazelle's death and his celebratory moment with the princess, but the feeling had lasted only minutes longer before reality set in. He kept on wearing the damned suit anyway, kept on letting Merlin send him out on mission after mission, sometimes with only an hour or two to sleep at Harry's before he got up and went out again to try and put things right. Sometimes he lay awake even in his exhaustion, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about Harry.

When he did sleep, he dreamed strange dreams – not even nightmares. Dreams of a woman in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by little pinpricks of light. A man in a castle wearing a thin circlet crown. A stone room with a stone table and a crystal ball in the center of it. Another man, tall, with feathers woven into his hair. A sword. The woman offering Eggsy the sword. 

He always woke before he could take it.

There was no shortage of work to be done. Drug smuggling was on the up, and terrorist attacks, and even burglary. Eggsy got the worst jobs, of course, the dirty and the violent, but he counted himself lucky he got anything at all. Chester King's betrayal had caused a rift in Kingsman; none of the other knights had been in on it, but some of them clearly wished they had been. Now there was a power struggle over the position, with the traditionalists backing Bors and the others backing Merlin. Merlin, of course, kept his cards close to his chest, but his forehead was always furrowed these days, and there were bags beginning to form under his eyes.

Eggsy just didn't want to be thrown out (a distinct possibility, if Bors became Arthur), and so he kept his head down and did what he was told. At least his mum and his sister were alive. At least he had a place to stay and food to eat. At least he had a purpose.

When he let himself be honest, he knew that it was grinding away at him. He had killed so many – by inaction, and indirectly, but now by action as well, with knives and guns and electric shock and his own bare hands. He'd known what he was getting into, of course, but he'd still thought the thrill would come back, still thought he would feel satisfaction at making the world a better place. Instead he just felt sick – at the state of the world, at what people did to each other. At himself. Like there was a cancer growing in humanity and all Valentine had done was cut them open enough to expose it.

One night there was a confrontation in the shop – Bors sweeping through on his way out to prevent an assassination at a high profile dinner party, Eggsy just returned from taking down a child sex trafficking ring in an operation that had left him bloodied and numb all down one arm. He had been halfway through his preliminary report to Merlin, but with Bors' sneered ″you useless little maggot″ ringing in his ears he simply turned and walked out, left all of it behind in favor of the cool, welcoming darkness of the streets. Behind him he could hear Merlin's voice saying something low and sharp, Roxy's raised in angry disdain, but he couldn't make himself stay to listen to any of it. Nothing they could say would change the truth – he wasn't cut out for this. Maybe he never had been. Maybe Harry had been wrong about him.

Eggsy thought, perhaps, that it was a blessing that Harry was dead.

He reached the park, four blocks away, and stood in silence for a while. Eventually Roxy and Merlin joined him, both without speaking, though he could feel the indignation still rolling off of Roxy like waves. 

The park itself was empty, even of the usual teenagers and late night drunk weirdos. For a moment it felt as if they were the only three people on Earth. He almost wished they were, wished he could erase everyone else and start over afresh. The irony of wanting that, after Valentine, did not escape him. Perhaps they were not so different after all.

If only there were something he could hold onto. Something he could have faith in – something they all could have faith in. Eggsy had never believed in god; growing up with Dean had meant he'd seen how shit the world could be, first hand, from far too young. He hadn't even really believed in the power of the medal he carried around his neck. If there was a god, if there was someone who cared about Lee Unwin's son, why hadn't they done better by him? Why hadn't they done anything at all? He'd thought of calling the number hundreds of times, but always shied away in the end because he knew he'd just be setting himself up for disappointment. It was only in that police station, only as a last resort, that he'd let himself try.

So maybe this was his other last resort. Maybe this was the time to let himself try.

″Please,″ Eggsy whispered. After a moment he closed his eyes, and like a flash there came to him a memory of the dream from the night before – the lady, the sword. ″Please,″ he said again, speaking now to her, as if she could hear, as if she were real. ″We can't go on like this. Not just me. All of us humans. We need something to help us do what needs to be done. We need something to help us be _good_.″ He lifted his arms, the good one and the numb one, folded his hands in front of him in his best approximation of prayer. He did not care if Merlin or Roxy were watching. ″Please help us,″ he said. ″Anyone. _Anyone_.″

There was no answer. Eggsy laughed bitterly, dropping his arms to his sides and opening his eyes. Of course there was no answer. There had been one Harry Hart in his life – there would be no second one to come and save him. He tilted his head back, stared up at the dark canvas of the sky. 

Afterwards, he could never be sure what made him say it.

″Oxfords, not brogues?″

A beat – and then a flash of light, bright enough to blind him. Eggsy staggered back and went sprawling, arse over teakettle on the damp grass. 

When his eyes cleared, the three of them were no longer alone in the park. There were three – well, horses, Eggsy supposed, although they weren't like any of the horses he'd ever seen on the telly. They were taller, stronger, whiter – a pale white so bright that it glowed. They were beautiful. They were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. 

The closest of the horses turned its head towards him. Eggsy met its gaze, looked suddenly into bright blue eyes. _Eggsy,_ it said. Not aloud, not with its mouth, but into his mind as loud as if it had spoken. It was Harry's voice. _Oh, Eggsy. I promise, I'll never leave you alone, not again. I choose you._

**Author's Note:**

> This is all there will be of this, mainly because realistically the horse form is hopelessly impractical in this setting and probably they should be dogs or something. But horses sure do make for good drama.


End file.
